


Melting Glass

by likebunnies



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebunnies/pseuds/likebunnies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is different now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melting Glass

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 1999 so you know, I had no idea what was going to happen in the future with the rest of the seasons and the last movie. I do remember setting it in 2009 and thinking that sounded very far away. Life is funny like that. -- Jori

January 21, 2009

My feet sink into the ice-encrusted snow and each step I take makes an  
echoing crunch, crunch, crunch. I move cautiously to the front door of  
the cabin, wanting to blame my pace on the fear of slipping on hidden  
ice, but knowing all too well it is fear of something else. I fear  
something that I've wanted for years and could never have. I fear that  
I may never have it. Or maybe I fear having it even more.

All else is silent, as if the world stopped the moment I pulled into  
the drive and got out of the car. This place is nestled in the woods,  
and the wind doesn't even make a sad, lonesome howl as it blows  
through the pine trees. It's as if everything on earth is holding its  
breath, waiting to see what is going to happen next. Smoke gently  
curls from the chimney two stories up and looks as though it is  
suspended there, ordered to be still by the rest of the world, if only  
for a moment.

I've never been here before, and I'm only following the directions of  
Scully's note. How did she know I would come? Why do I trust that she  
will be here? The structure is dark, but I see her petite form  
shadowed in a window on the upper floor. She steps back when she  
notices me shading my eyes against the white glare to get a better  
look. I can't stop staring at the frosted over pane of glass, hoping  
for just one more glimpse of her from afar before words are spoken  
between us. Just the mere thought of her standing on the other side of  
that windowpane causes my heart to race. In this silent, winter world,  
I swear I can almost hear it pounding in my chest.

I stop in front of the door, knowing I could be crossing into  
something from where I can never return. The silent snow is starting  
to fall more rapidly, and it finds its way into the back of my parka  
and the top of my snow boots. I remember all too well the last time I  
was this cold. Please, don't let the memories come back now, I beg to  
whatever higher deity might take pity on me and listen. I don't want  
to remember all the nights I was frozen without her. My benumbed mind  
and icy heart lost in a place no one ever thought to look. Not even  
Scully could have found me there. They made sure of that.

The door is unlocked, and I enter without knocking. I slip out of my  
outermost winter gear, not wanting the wet snow to make a mess. It is  
warm in here, and a fire crackles loudly in the main room, not obeying  
the rules of silence declared by the world outside.

"Scully?" I call out, but no one answers back. I remember that's not  
her name, only what I call her. I always forget that. Or maybe it  
isn't forgetting. Maybe it is an intentional denial.

"Dana?" I try, but still no answer. I will not try the other name she  
goes by, knowing it will never make it off of my tongue. It never has.  
It never will.

I climb the stairs to the upper loft and find her, still damp from a  
bath and wrapped up in a towel.

"I didn't think you were ever coming in, Mulder," she says, not  
turning to look at me. Scully is standing in the spot that I had seen  
her in from outside, before she ducked away into the shadows. Her eyes  
never leave the window, but I know she can see me in reflection.

"I called for you," I say to her, not knowing where to take the  
conversation next.

It is never easy, these first few tenuous minutes together and this  
time is no different. The only difference is this time she asked for  
me to come to her. This isn't a 'I just happen to be in town' meeting.  
We've had a few of those in the past where I would meet her and her  
husband at some restaurant and share dinner before we went on with our  
separate lives again.

The last time I tried to meet with her . . . and him . . . always him  
. . . was three months ago. She turned down my invitation, stating  
that she was going to be out of town that week, but I knew from her  
voice it was something else. It was the same fear I felt a few minutes  
ago. Fear of wanting what we cannot have. I sat in my rental car just  
down the street from where she lives, hating myself for doing what I  
was doing. Hating myself for not just letting go. I watched as she  
drove up and got out, walking into that house she shares with someone  
else. And I cried. For the first time in years, I cried. She felt she  
had to lie to me. To avoid me. To avoid facing that fear.

This time, she invited me. She is calling the shots. The words in her  
note did not express just a casual meeting. They gave me precise  
directions and times. I could tell that it was written with a  
trembling hand, still not sure that this was the right thing to do.  
The last line written in shaky cursive established that she would be  
alone and far from home.

She is most certainly alone, and not dressed. I want to go to her,  
wrap my arms around her, just to hug her, nothing more, but am afraid  
to. Afraid this time I won't be able to stop it with just a chaste  
kiss on the cheek and a 'nice to see you again, Scully.'

"How have you been, old friend?" Scully asks, using the expression she  
first used when she found me at that hospital. She still doesn't turn  
around to face me. Is this as hard on her as it is on me, and if it  
is, why did she ask me here?

"Pretty good. And you, old friend?" I ask, knowing her answer and  
mouthing it silently along with her.

"I'm fine."

"Do you mind if I ask why you invited me here?" I finally ask, after  
several moments of my eyes being locked with the eyes of an image on  
cold, unmoving glass.

"I missed talking to you, Mulder," she says back to my reflection.

"If I recall correctly, the telephone. . ." I start to say.

"That's not what I meant. I mean, I miss *you.* A lot," she says  
softly, as if it would be a sin to admit that loud enough for God to  
hear. Perhaps it is a sin in her mind to simply come to that  
realization. I know this could slip into so many other sins, if one of  
us just broke down the walls that the other just keeps building right  
back up.

I go to her, and wrap my arms tightly around her. I look at her  
reflection in the frosty glass, and can see a tear trickle down her  
cheek. I don't want her to feel that she is guilty of anything for  
just seeing me, and am afraid if it went any further, she might die  
from the guilt.

"Scully, I miss you, too. I really do. But you didn't have to go to  
all of this trouble to talk to me. I could have flown out to Indiana  
or Iowa or wherever the hell it is you live now. We *are* allowed to  
go out to lunch, aren't we?" I ask, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Yes, but. . ." she says, and I can feel her sinking deeper against me  
despite herself. I can feel my body doing things despite myself, too.

"We've known each other how long now, Scully? I used to be the only  
one you trusted, remember?" I whisper into her ear and she finally  
smiles.

"I remember," she says, but neither of us moves, not wanting to give  
up this new, greater degree of intimacy with each other, always so  
foreign in our friendship.

Well over a decade and closing in on two. That is how long we've known  
each other. But five of those years are missing from my life. She  
thought I left her to go off on that inane quest of mine alone. She  
believed I abandoned her to keep her safe. Scully told me she went to  
the ends of the earth the first year after I disappeared, searching  
for me but finding nothing. Of course she wouldn't find anything at  
the ends of the earth. I was only a few miles away, imprisoned in a  
place whose name I cannot bring myself to say out loud. Just like I  
can't say Scully's other name. I can think them, but cannot force them  
to pass my lips.

Sandhill Crest Mental Rehabilitation Center. That was their final  
attempt to dispose of me. They locked me in there, and I spent days on  
end by myself. Years on end, actually. When they did come in my room,  
they would tell me that I was crazy often enough to eventually make me  
believe it myself. They told me stories of how Scully was going on  
with her life. And how my mother died alone. It was easier to be  
frozen and unfeeling than to have to suffer through picture after  
picture of Scully's new life. Of how she could do just fine without me  
and the FBI. Pictures letting me know I was going to be captive there  
forever, for even if they did release me, I would never have her.

And then one day I woke up in a hospital, with no identification and  
no where to go. Someone had freed me for reasons still unknown.  
Probably because the torture on the outside would now be greater than  
it had been on the inside. Scully came to me, leaving her old life  
behind if only for a few days. But she had to return to it. She always  
has to return. I can't blame her. I can only blame myself.

My hands begin to betray all the words I'm saying about trust, as they  
slowly move up to the knot holding her bath towel together. They want,  
hell, *I* want to feel more, to explore places I've never been allowed  
to go.

"Mulder, I can't," she says timidly, but her hands do not go up to  
stop me.

"Are you sure you can't, Scully? You can trust me," I whisper in her  
ear as my one hand moves into where her towel wraps around her,  
slipping in between the folds of terry cloth.

"But I can't trust myself," she says, moaning slightly as my hand  
finds her breast. She is warm despite the cold world. Despite the fact  
that the man touching her is numb from the years spent with out her.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask her, my other hand moving her damp  
hair away so I can nuzzle her neck.

"Losing everything," she says, her voice almost a purr now.

"I've already lost everything, Scully. It isn't as bad as it sounds,"  
I tell her, wanting her to believe me. I lost everything the day I  
found out I lost her. The reason it isn't as bad as it sounds is  
because it is worse.

"Mulder, oh God," she moans as my hand leaves her breast and moves  
lower, taking advantage of her guard being down for just once. I know  
that if we get into heady conversation, the magic of this moment will  
be lost forever. I don't want her to think, I only want her to feel.

"Scully, let it go. Let go with me. No one will find out," I reassure  
her, as I drink in her clean scent, never wanting to forget it again.  
Never wanting to be away from it again, but knowing I will have to let  
it go.

"But I will know and God will know," Scully says in a voice full of  
pain and longing. She longs for the answers. Longs to know what is the  
right thing to do. She and I know this is wrong. But there is nothing  
else so right at this moment. This is the only answer.

"God just wants you to be happy. I read that somewhere," I say,  
feeling her thighs part a little more under my touch. Her words are  
saying one thing while her body is going along with me. I don't want  
to ruin what we have by pushing her into doing something she will  
regret, but I want her.

"Mulder. . ." she begins to say something, but her towel drops.

We both just stand and stare at her reflection in the glass. She is  
far from that young *girl* who first walked into my office so many  
years ago, but she is still so beautiful. More beautiful, actually, as  
she approaches middle age. I look at myself, with my battered and  
beaten soul, and wonder why she would want me here in the first place.

I deliberately push Scully's body up to the full-length glass we have  
been standing in front of, and a shiver runs through her as contact is  
made.

"Feel how cold that is, Scully? That is how cold I was without you all  
those years. I was frozen and couldn't feel anything. I wouldn't allow  
myself to feel anything, for fear of having too much hope. Feel how it  
is so cold it almost burns? How it feels as if it could melt just  
because you are alive? That was my heart. It ached for you," I say  
into her ear, and her body moves back into mine, trying to escape the  
window pane.

"Mulder, please. . ." she says, my warmth making her move closer to  
me. The heat rising from our bodies when they make complete contact is  
intense enough to melt that pane of glass and send it flowing from its  
casing.

"Please what, Scully? Don't tell you how I feel? We did that for so  
many years, and I think it is time for some changes. I want to feel  
you, how warm you are. I need to feel you," I tell her, as her hands  
go up to the glass, forcing her ass to grind into my already hard  
cock.

"Please, Mulder, I need you, too, but . . . I can't," she says,  
ignoring her own words as her hands come down from the glass. She  
reaches behind her, fumbling to release me from the confines of the  
jeans I have on.

I put her hands back onto the cold window pane, and hastily drop my  
pants down as far as they will go, cursing the fact that I'm wearing  
damn hiking boots.

Scully bends over for me, her back arching, and I stroke her warm, wet  
folds with my fingers. A noise between a sigh and a gasp exits my  
throat just because I'm touching her. She is letting me touch her  
somewhere I know she believes belongs to someone else. I say that any  
part of her body and soul only belongs to her.

Scully is offering herself up to me and I want to sink into her and  
reside there forever. She pushes against me and I enter her from  
behind. I don't care how we do it. I just need her, and it doesn't  
matter how. I grab her hips, and thrust into her, pushing her face  
close to the glass. She doesn't say a word, just utters little  
guttural sounds as my strokes quicken.

Our coupling isn't pretty, and it reveals how desperately we need  
this. I slam into her, pushing her closer and closer to the window.  
With each frantic thrust, a noise escapes from her throat and it  
barely sounds human. It isn't nearly as romantic as our surroundings  
would seem to dictate, or how I always fantasized I'd make love to  
her, but it is the two of us together in ways I could only dream of  
for years. There were days when I could hope for nothing more than  
this to eventually happen.

I lean into her and reach around to find her clit. I work it until I  
find the right intensity, causing her to moan something that includes  
my name and an apology to God. She thrusts back harder into me, and  
even though it has only lasted a few minutes, I know I'm not going to  
be able to hold off that much longer.

"Scully, I need to know if you can, if you are going to come for me. I  
*need* you to come for me," I say to her, as I watch her reflection.  
Her mouth has dropped open into a perfect rosebud-colored O of extreme  
pleasure, and her hot breath has steamed up a small circle on the  
window.

"Yes," she says, the word hissing out of her mouth. I drive into her  
harder, finally pushing over into a place from which neither of us can  
return. I feel her body rock beneath mine, and her internal muscles  
pull me in ever so deep. With only two more thrusts, I can't control  
it anymore, and I pull her as close to me as is humanly possible. So  
close that it almost erases all those years of being alone. Almost.  
For now, I cannot tell where I end and she begins. It is as if we have  
been fused together by our own heat, melting into one entity instead  
of two.

I come inside of her, and don't even recognize the sounds I'm making  
as my own. I'm crying for her like I used to when I would wake up from  
my nightmares, my body frozen in place. Scully is so warm, allowing me  
to thaw in the only way I knew would save me. This brilliantly white  
place I have entered grows dark too quickly. I have to descend back to  
earth again. I return to find myself still inside of Scully. She has  
her head tilted in such a way that I cannot see her expression. But I  
know it all too well.

Our bodies stop contracting against one another, and I pull out of  
her, all wet and sticky. I now just realize how cold the room is. The  
icy air drifts between us as we separate, dousing the fire that had  
just been there seconds ago.

She still doesn't turn from the glass. Her eyes won't even look at my  
reflection. It is then that I realize that since I've been here, she  
has yet to look at me directly. We just consummated this age-old  
relationship without once looking into the other's eyes. She can't  
bear to look at me. I see a tear fall down her cheek and there is  
nothing I can do to stop it. I am the cause of it. I was saved but now  
she is lost.

I pull up my jeans and button my fly before picking up her towel and  
wrapping it around her as well as I can. She says no words to me, and  
I can almost sense the pain she is feeling come pouring from her very  
being.

She wants to be punished for this and she is the only one who can do  
the chastising properly. She will berate herself for hours for this  
one indiscretion. And her broken heart will be my punishment for  
wanting her for all these years. I will be condemned to go back to  
that frozen place inside my soul I now call home. I will never escape  
it again for it is where I belong. Even more so now than ever before.  
Scully doesn't even look at me when I leave the room. Instead, she  
remains firmly pressed against the cold glass.

She is still pressed up against that cold glass as I drive away.

*************************

The End


End file.
